Wednesday was an interesting day for me. I made my first trip into the euthanasia room, which other KAs who have been there months have avoided and not yet entered. Morbid curiosity got the best of me, however, and I made a foray into the room unescorted, just to take a look around.
I'm not going to go into what I saw. It was nothing horrifying or, I suspect, out of the ordinary, but it was a small wake-up call. Dealing with the feral/stray cats, I know who goes where and, most often, what happens to them. It's just unsettling to be surprised by the aftermath of the decisions that people make.
I will, however, share a different anecdote. When cleaning out the public cat rooms, there are supposed to be dividers that you can close between their cubby and the main kennel. The idea is to get the cat into its cubby, close it off and clean the main kennel. Due to warping and debris, some of the sliders don't slide and some are just plain missing.
For those cats, unless they give no indication of coming out of their cubby, you need cat boxes. Cat boxes are rectangular wire boxes with a handle and most have two opening, one on top and one at the end. You can't reuse the box because of germs, so it can be a nuisance. I can only carry four at one time without assistance.
I needed more boxes, so I went out to the sally port to get more. When I opened the door, I was immediately transfixed. There was a truck parked in the sally port with a guy standing next to it with a large trash can. The trash can was full of water and cats. The guy had a cat grabber* and was taking the cats out of the water and putting them into the back of the truck.
I stood there watching him for what seemed like forever, then got my cat boxes and proceeded to go back inside. On my way back through the door, I stopped to watch again. I couldn't help it--it was the strangest thing I think I've ever seen with my own eyes.
He sees me watching him slack-jawed, and says in a delightfully country accent, "I bet you're wonderin' what I'm doin!" I nodded dumbly. "I take these cats to schools all around! It's for science!"
While he's waving the cat grabber around, he excitedly tells me that he takes them to be dissected in high schools and colleges, including NC State, which has a darn good program. A lot of our vets studied there.
I'm glad he explained, because if it had not been for his charming explanation, I might have thought he was making cat-skin lamps or something.
* I didn't realize it was really called a "cat grabber." It makes me so happy when things have logical names. Makes Googling so much easier and fruitful.
I'm still enjoying my job. I'm not quite as tired as I was that first week, but now I'm waking up too early. On days I work, I wake up at least 30 minutes before the alarm goes off. On my days off, like today, I wake up around 7. I refuse to get out of bed, though, because what the heck is there to do at 7 a.m.? It's ridiculous. Nothing good can come from getting up at 7 a.m. and not going to work.
My husband may soon be joining me at the shelter. He got offered a part-time receptionist job and is supposed to go in for training on the 15th. Pay is the same and will replace his Home Depot job. He was in the middle of some mess with them, but I'll let him go on about that if he wishes. He'll be working much shorter days but making about the same amount of money. Everyone wins!
"I've never seen someone so happy and singing to be cleaning up cat poop."
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